acquired the knowledge needed for a sailor. I imitate Juste, and keep
out of France, where men waste, in the struggle to make way, the
energy needed for the noblest works. Follow my example, friends; I am
going where a man steers his destiny as he pleases.

These great resolutions were formed in the little room in the
lodging-house in the Rue Corneille, in spite of our haunting the Bal
Musard, flirting with girls of the town, and leading a careless and
apparently reckless life. Our plans and arguments long floated in the
air.

Marcas, our neighbor, was in some degree the guide who led us to the
margin of the precipice or the torrent, who made us sound it, and
showed us beforehand what our fate would be if we let ourselves fall
into it. It was he who put us on our guard against the time-bargains a
man makes with poverty under the sanction of hope, by accepting
precarious situations whence he fights the battle, carried along by
the devious tide of Paris--that great harlot who takes you up or
leaves you stranded, smiles or turns her back on you with equal
readiness, wears out the strongest will in vexatious waiting, and
makes misfortune wait on chance.



At our first meeting, Marcas, as it were, dazzled us. On our return
from the schools, a little before the dinner-hour, we were accustomed
to go up to our room and remain there a while, either waiting for the
other, to learn whether there were any change in our plans for the
evening. One day, at four o'clock, Juste met Marcas on the stairs, and
I saw him in the street. It was in the month of November, and Marcas